


Horizons to Spare

by sinestrated



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, Sort Of, Spoilers for Darksiders III, The Horsemen are a fiercely loyal family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17006922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: After everything is said and done, War presents Fury with a gift.





	Horizons to Spare

**Author's Note:**

> I don't play any of the Darksiders games; I just watch the cutscenes because I really like the lore. Also, this is only sort of a fix-it in that I had to break something else. (Hence the 'character death' tag.) Sorry.

The end of the world, as it turned out, was pretty anticlimactic.

The Charred Council fell with nary a whimper. Fury was hardly surprised; they barely managed to hold off Envy on their own before she showed up to save their sorry asses. Confronted by all four Horsemen, raging and resplendent in their monstrous demonic forms, those three flaming piles of rock hadn’t stood a chance.

It was Heaven and Hell who gave them most of the fight. Two hundred years: that’s how long it took for her and her brothers to extinguish the final remnants of rebellion. To exterminate the vermin, angelic and demonic alike, purging the Corruption and seeding new worlds with fragile humanity in all its forms. Starting the Universe anew.

They’d emerged victorious in the end, though for a few moments there Fury hadn’t been entirely sure they would succeed. Still, the entirety of Creation now knew the harsh lesson of daring to challenge the Horsemen. You didn’t threaten one without invoking the world-destroying wrath of all four.

Well. Almost four. The pain by now was familiar, an old, aching visitor in the deepest part of her heart. Their triumph hadn’t come without cost.

A favor to War: that was why she was here, sitting alone on a lonely cliff overlooking a vast grass-filled valley. It was one of the few worlds that had been spared in their battle, deemed too small and insignificant for the demons and angels to bother fighting them for. She wasn’t sure why her little brother had asked her to meet him here, but she was past questioning his motives. She’d done that once, and look where that got her.

War himself was off somewhere with Death, probably tearing him a new one for that idiotic stunt he pulled at the Well of Souls. Fury had to hand it to her eldest brother: he’d managed to keep that little tidbit from them for almost the entire two centuries, until that decrepit bag of bones known as the Crowfather showed up. Fury couldn’t remember ever seeing War look so stricken. She’d hardly been surprised when the dust had barely settled on the final battle and War punched Death so hard he knocked the mask off, then hauled his brother into his arms. They’d left soon after. Fury didn’t try to follow.

She loved her brothers fiercely—even in the worst depths of her selfishness and blind belief in the Council, this had never changed. She knew what it was like to lose something precious.

Still, she would have liked at least a little company out on this tiny, pastoral world. If only Rampage...she sighed, swallowing against the sense of gaping loss. Rampage had been gone a long time. He would’ve loved this place, with its vast fields and sloping hills, scattered forests and clear streams. She missed him so badly, sometimes even more than...

A slight shifting in the air shook her from her thoughts, followed soon after by the tell-tale thud of heavy boots, the shifting clank of thick armor. She rose to her feet, stretched, and turned to regard her two brothers. “Took you long enough.”

Death just hummed. Fury was a little surprised to see him still without the mask, but she’d take it if it meant the lack of guilt and self-loathing in his bright orange eyes would remain. War stepped forward and Fury clasped his arm, breathing in for a moment the familiar scent of iron and sweat. Only one glowing eye watched her as he shifted back; he’d lost the other in the final showdown against Samael’s forces, the scarred-over socket now hidden by a polished leather patch Death had crafted with great care. “Getting bored without us, sister?”

“Could’ve made a few daisy chains,” Death remarked. Fury rewarded him with one of the vulgar gestures she’d learned from the humans on Earth before turning back to her youngest brother.

“I’ve done fine for centuries without either of you,” she said. “I can easily make it a few more.”

War shook his head, but his smile didn’t fade. She liked that about him, that he smiled more now. Had she gone through the bullshit he’d had to with the Charred Council’s betrayal, she wasn’t sure she’d be handling it with nearly as much grace.

“I have a surprise for you,” War said then, and made a summoning motion with his gauntleted hand. The ground next to him shuddered and cracked an instant before a familiar dark, fiery form burst forth. Ruin tossed his head, sniffed at the clean air, then promptly sneezed. Behind them, Despair rose from the earth with a shake of his head, sending a group of small birds bursting into the sky with terrified shrieks.

“I hardly have the stomach for surprises,” Fury said, although she couldn’t put half as much bite as she wanted into the words, too distracted by the sight of her brothers’ horses. Their companions and best friends, their counterparts, their most loyal of soldiers.

Rampage, who had once been all those things for her, and more.

If War took offense at her words, he didn’t show it, instead swinging up onto Ruin with practiced ease and offering her his hand. “Humor me,” he said, and it wasn’t like Fury had much of a choice.

She took the hand and allowed her brother to haul her up onto his steed. She’d never ridden Ruin before; it was curious how he actually felt smooth and cool to the touch, not hot to the point of blistering she would have expected from his appearance. Ruin didn’t seem to mind the extra weight, surging forward with a happy whinny at War’s encouraging kick, and for a moment Fury forgot all about battles and ruined worlds and surprises.

Two centuries had passed since she’d ridden, and oh, how she’d missed it. The wind whipping at her hair, the valley roaring by her in an unintelligible blur, the heave and thrum of the powerful animal beneath her as it carried her to great futures and vast unknowns. A howl of freedom and infinity rose within her heart and she threw her head back and laughed into the wind. She didn’t even care that Ruin wasn’t her horse. She was a Horseman, and she  _ rode _ .

It seemed only the blink of an eye before she noticed Ruin slowing, yet when she straightened up in the saddle and glanced around, she saw they’d already crossed the valley and were now on the edge of a plain of grassy hills, rolling like ocean waves far off into the distance beyond her sight. A soft chuff announced Despair pulling even with them, Death balanced smoothly atop his back, and Fury blinked when War dismounted without hesitation and beckoned to her. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere special,” War answered, walking a few paces forward as Fury obediently hopped to the ground. 

“Which was the whole point, I understand,” Death said, now standing next to Despair, absentmindedly stroking his horse’s toxic mane.

War nodded, and when he turned to look at Fury, there was something different in his smile. It was still fierce and warm as it always was for them, but now there was a hint of...pride?

“I picked this world on purpose,” he said, as Fury blinked in confusion. “I knew it was too small and out of the way to attract anyone’s attention, so it was the perfect place to hide them while simultaneously giving them room to grow and develop.” A flicker of sadness. “I had hoped we would never actually have need of them, but I figured it was better to plan for the worst than simply hope for the best.”

Then, before Fury could ask, he turned from them and whistled.

It was a high, lilting note, echoing across the plains like a hunting eagle’s call. A few moments later, something whinnied in response.

A group of shapes resolved themselves over the crest of a distant hill. Fury stared, her heart leaping into her throat as the band of horses—sleek and strong—bounded over the grass to approach them. They were all shapes and colors, some black as night, others lighter than the ashen snow still dusting Earth’s surface, and still others every shade in between. Well-fed on the lush grass, sleek-muscled from running unbridled through the endless valleys, they were beautiful, magnificent. They were perfect.

Footsteps approached, and she turned as Death came to stand beside her. “We can’t bring them back,” he murmured, nodding gently at the solid metal mask Fury wore on her belt at all times. “But we can honor them in our own way.”

Fury nodded, but didn’t trust herself to speak. The Horsemaster had been dead for millennia; the Charred Council had apparently deemed him expendable after he’d finished supplying their newly-minted Nephilim servants with their steeds. She’d given up on ever having another partner after Rampage; no horse could ever replace him, could ever truly fill the gaping void he’d left in her heart with his death. But now...

A loud neigh brought her back to the moment. She looked up just in time to see the horses shuffle aside as if startled, the group breaking up to reveal a single tall animal standing alone in their midst. Fury’s breath caught in her throat. He was gorgeous: at least two hands taller than the others, head held high, body the color of an endless overcast sky. He nickered, tossed his head, and the others shifted to make space for him, quiet and respectful. He was the stallion.

And she knew, the instant she met his calm, coal-black eyes, that he was hers.

Neither War nor Death moved to stop her as she stepped forward. The gray stallion, for his part, simply watched as she approached. At one point he snorted, loud, a warning, and she paused, the both of them staring at each other for a moment. But he didn’t back away and neither did she, and when at last she reached forward and touched a palm to his snout, he let her, nosing forward as she gently stroked his neck.

He was not Rampage, would never be Rampage. The Black Horse was dead, and that would never change. But here, on this lovely pearl of a world, with blue sky above and bloody battles behind and eternity with her brothers—her  _ family— _ in her future, Fury felt for the first time in a long time the tentative spark of hope.

This horse was not Rampage, but maybe, given time and devotion and love, he could become—

“ _ Vengeance _ ,” she whispered.

The animal whinnied and  _ erupted _ . His mane turned to black smoke, clouds of it billowing up from his hooves as his body darkened to the color of a rising hurricane, the sacred sigils writing themselves on his shoulders and back. A full saddle, bridle, and bit made of polished metal materialized from thin air, and he watched her throughout the entire process, no hint of pain or fear as his black eyes sparked and glowed, heavy with hellfire.

The fourth Horseman was no longer alone.

“I take it you like your gift.”

War stood a couple feet away, watching them with a knowing smile. Without thought, Fury turned from Vengeance and pulled him into an embrace. He made a surprised noise but didn’t fight her, and she took a moment to just hold him close, remembering the angel-haired infant whom everyone but Death had declared a curse among the Nephilim. The defiant child who’d followed her around their camp for days on end, goading her into fights, laughing when she lost her temper and drew blood. The stalwart warrior chained at the Council’s feet, whom she’d been ready to abandon. The steadfast brother who she ultimately had not.

This was what it meant to be family. If anyone came after them now, if anyone so much as threatened Death or War or the principles they stood for, she would annihilate them. They’d damn near torn the Universe asunder the first time someone had made that mistake. She’d do it again, and gladly, at the first provocation.

Eventually they parted, and War only looked a bit uncomfortable as he brushed invisible lint off his cloak and nodded up at the clear sky above. “It’s a beautiful day for a ride, I think,” he said. Behind them, Death was already back astride Despair, and he sent her a nod and one of his rare smiles when she looked at him.

Fury turned back to Vengeance. The stallion nickered softly and nudged her hand, his intention clear:  _ Do it. Show them all what we’re capable of. _ And who was Fury to refuse such an invitation?

Swinging up onto the horse’s— _ her  _ horse’s back, she shook her head and laughed, even though her throat was tight and she could feel the slight prickle of tears in her eyes. War, that giant, armored, wonderful idiot. It didn’t fix everything, but gods, did it feel better than she had in decades.

Despair trotted up to them, Death’s fingers curled loosely in the reins. Her brother looked at her and tilted his head in the direction of the horizon. “After you, sister.”

Fury turned from him to peer into the distance. The twin suns here were just starting to set, the sky turning a molten orange, the shimmering horizon thrumming with invitation and promise. She breathed out and reached down to touch the mask on her belt, a single deep crack running along its edge. For the first time, the feel of the metal against her fingers didn’t bring grief or anger or regret. Instead, she felt a flicker of hope, of excitement. This was what he would’ve wanted, she knew that without a doubt. This was how they would live for him.

“Ride with us, Strife,” she whispered, and kicked her heels into Vengeance’s side. Her great stallion reared up with a whinny and tore forward, Death and War hot on their heels, the other horses forming a protective wall at their back of hooves and tails and flying manes. Fury let Vengeance take the lead, closing her eyes and trusting her horse to carry her wherever she was needed next, across entire worlds and star systems, through time in all its flowing branches, along the very fabric of Creation itself.

She had her life and her whips and her brothers at her side, and she was finally a Horseman once more.

Gods help anyone who stood in her way.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
